Grant
by save changes to normal
Summary: When a brilliant young thief manages to botch an important job, MacGyver is far from pleased. But when his job suddenly becomes keeping that young thief alive, it doesn't take long for Mac's priorities and his feelings to change.
1. Chapters 1 through 3

A/N: Hello. I was always a big fan of MacGyver; however, most of what I've written here is from my memory of the characters and facts of the show. In other words: I apologize in advance for anything I get wrong. :) I am planning on buying the DVDs. I promise.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I mean, come on. Really.

The thing about hacking or otherwise electronically pushing your way through a state of the art security system without being caught or filmed is that in many cases, simply put, it's impossible. No matter how many spy films you watch that seem to prove otherwise, sometimes you just can't get a hold of the resources to take one of these systems down. Take for example, the system at the Klaus building on Fifth. Forty six stories. Twenty-four hour guard, private elevator, each room alarmed. And as much as MacGyver would've loved to be able to use the ever-present Swiss Army knife in his pocket, he realized this particular job would take something a bit different. Something with a bit more finesse. Something that had him reluctantly pushing a pair of plastic-rimmed glasses up on his nose and adjusting an ugly bow tie, shifting the grip he had on the briefcase he held in his left hand.

The idea was simple. MacGyver was to get in, make his way up to the twenty-third floor, room 2308, and get his hands on the stolen Miranda Diamond that was supposed to be hidden there in the wall safe. The diamond was taken from a visiting dignitary from Zaire. It was worth millions, one of the largest in the world. All MacGyver had to do was bag the jewel, grab enough evidence to put Klaus, the rich businessman and part-time crook, away for a conveniently long time, save the world, blah, blah, blah. Easy, right?

_Right._ MacGyver sighed and approached the building. He met the guard at the door, flashed a badge he'd gotten from Pete. The guard nodded and opened the door. MacGyver made it to the front desk, unceremoniously heaved his case up on the desk in front of a startled middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and bright red lipstick that looked like it could glow in the dark, and said in a whiny, nasally voice, "I'm here to take a look at Mr. Klaus' computer. He said he's got a bug or something."

The woman looked surprised. "Mr. Klaus sent for you? What's your name?"

MacGyver rolled his eyes. "I'm assuming he sent for me; I'm here aren't I? What, did you think I'd choose to drive all the way out here at…_11:34_ at night because I could use the practice?" She opened her mouth, but she didn't get a chance to speak. "Well I _didn't_. Mr. Klaus said if I don't get his computer fixed by the time he gets here tomorrow, it'll be _my_ neck. Oh, and, um, my name is Dexter. Pleased to meet you," he grumbled.

"I'm going to have to call up and clear you," she said skeptically, reaching for her phone.

"Yeah, fine. Whatever," the nerd formerly known as MacGyver griped. The woman placed the call. What she didn't know was that inside the case was a sweet little jamming device MacGyver rigged up for the occasion. The contraption redirected any outgoing signal to a van waiting outside with Pete and a man named Greg Smith who specialized in doing voice impressions. One irate German businessman coming right up.

The woman hung up the phone, looking confused. MacGyver got the idea it was a look she wore often. "Well, he says to let you up." She handed him a card with a magnetic strip. "This will give you access to the elevator. Bring it back when you're done. I'll ring the guard on floor twenty three, so he'll be expecting you. He'll switch off the alarm for the room you need."

"Finally," Dexter huffed. "You know I could be at home sleeping right now. I don't get enough sleep as it is. Sinus problems." She was nodding in a why-isn't-he-leaving? kind of way. "Doctor says it could be due to stress. Like this is gonna help any." With that he ran his sleeve under his nose, grabbed the case, and headed for the elevator.

"Mister, um, Dexter," she called. He froze. "You're going to have to sign in here."

He quietly let out a breath, rolling his eyes as he turned. He took a clipboard and scribbled something illegible that could've either been "Dexter Smith" or "Ootm 8nllln."

Once he reached the twenty-third floor, he checked in with the guard who showed him to room 2308. The man shut the door on his way out after "Dexter" went into a detailed account of his post-nasal drip problem. Finally on his own, MacGyver set to work. Pushing the annoying spectacles up to rest on the top of his head, he looked around the room. For an office, it was enormous. There were five steps leading down into what was really a sitting room, a full sofa and love seat tastefully centered around a rich cherry-wood coffee table that matched the giant, intimidating desk at the back of the room. There were seven pieces of framed art around the room. Any one of them could've been hiding the safe. Except, wait… One of the pictures was tilted slightly to the right. MacGyver walked up to it. Removing the piece, he found what he was looking for. A digital pad was built in, which wasn't a difficult obstacle to overcome. In fact, it hadn't been. Four keys had a dark powder outlining the prints. Someone else had gotten here first.

MacGyver tried combinations of the four until the safe opened. It was empty.

He looked up as the door opened, expecting to see the guard, his mind already racing to come up with some excuse. But it wasn't somebody coming in. It was somebody slipping out. "Hey!"

MacGyver ran to the door, trying to catch the thief. The moment he stepped out the door, however, the alarm sounded. He saw the thief in the hall, going for the elevators. The guard saw him, too. As the big man went for the thief, the smaller figure surprised him. He threw something small and round at the guard. The thing erupted upon impact, splattering a wet, dark liquid across his face and in his eyes. The man yelled, hands going up immediately to rub at his eyes. The thief ran past, swiped a card through the reader and dove into the elevator car. Before the doors could slide shut, however, MacGyver managed to slide in.

The stranger was shorter than he. Skinny. He wore a black hoodie and jeans, his face concealed by a Halloween Spiderman mask. There was a short pause, each watching the other guardedly with little clue as to what to do next. Finally, "Spiderman" said shortly, "Going down?" before punching the button.

"Who are you?" MacGyver demanded.

"Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman?"

"Try again." MacGyver was estimating his chances of overpowering the thief. The odds looked good.

"No need," the guy said lightly as he reached out to hit the stop button, halting the elevator just before it landed on the ground floor. "This is my stop." Before MacGyver could say more, his world erupted into a sea of black as something wet and sticky hit him in the face. He stumbled back, instinctively reaching up and scrubbing at his eyes. He felt the stranger slip something in his pocket. He didn't hear anything more from the guy.

Using his sleeve to clear the stuff from his eyes, he looked up just in time to see the doors being pried open and several guns in his face. "Police! Freeze!"

"Hi, guys," MacGyver said, nervously cheerful. "Would you believe this is all a big misunderstanding?" None of the officers replied. "No? I didn't think so. Great," he muttered. "Just great." A quick glance around the car confirmed what he already knew. The thief was gone. The jewel was gone with him.



"So this mystery man just disappeared into thin air?" Peter Thornton asked his friend. MacGyver was sitting across from him in his office at the Phoenix Foundation, face still stained dark in places from the disastrous mission the night before.

MacGyver gave a frustrated sigh. "Pete, please. I've been all over this with the police. I just spent a night in jail. I just want to go home for the night and..."

"Lick your wounds?" Pete asked knowingly.

Another sigh. "Kid threw an ink bomb in my face. I didn't see it coming. I screwed up, okay? I'm sorry."

"MacGyver, I'm not blaming you," Pete reasoned. "I just need to know what happened. This one was supposed to be easy. Then the police show up out of nowhere, find you with a fake I.D. right after you left the room where Klaus' hidden safe had just been cracked. You're lucky Klaus couldn't admit to anything missing, otherwise we'd have had no way to make excuses for you being there. As it was, they were reluctant to release you. And we still have a missing diamond on our hands. Now, I don't have to tell you how important it is we get that back. Prime Minister Narimobi is about ready to cry conspiracy."

"I know, Pete." MacGyver did know. He hated this feeling, and he wasn't used to it. This kid-in-the-principal's-office feeling of guilt and humiliation, of not having done the job, of messing up royally. Of being really, really tired after spending a night in jail after being unable to convince law enforcement officers he wasn't actually a crook with essentially nothing to tell them other than "Spiderman did it." "The guy didn't disappear. There was only one way out of the car. He was smart. He was able to get in the hard way. Those ink bombs he had were nothing more than coffee filters, ink, and rubber bands. He was inventive, resourceful. He was…"

"Like you?" Peter asked. It almost wasn't a question.

MacGyver had no comment for that. He went on, "He had to have gone out the top of the car. There was a fire escape on the second floor. He easily could have climbed up there from on top of the elevator. He used that to get out. With the intruder alarms already blaring, no one would've heard the fire alarm."

"How do you know that's what he did?"

MacGyver met his friend's eyes meaningfully. "It's what I would've done."

Pete nodded. "What about that card in your pocket?"

MacGyver pulled out the card. "Business card for the comic book store on Cherry Street."

"A calling card?" Pete asked.

"More so than you think. It has a date and time on the back. I think I'm supposed to meet him there."

Pete's eyes widened. "And you didn't think to bring this up before? With the police, maybe?"

"I don't want to involve the police until we have to. This is still about keeping the peace with the Prime Minister of Zaire, which means this is still about the rock, which means this is still up to us. I'll get the diamond back from him, Pete. My word on it."

"But it doesn't make any sense. Why would the thief want to meet with you?"

"I have no idea," MacGyver admitted. "But I'll find out."



"You still think he's going to show?" Pete's voice came in clearly through the mic in his ear. "It's been over an hour."

"I know," MacGyver mumbled, pretending to pour over the latest issue of _X-men_. He was working with a handicap. He had no idea what the guy looked like, but the thief knew him. Not the best position to be in. "I'm going to wait outside."

The comic book store was situated between Cherry Street and an alleyway. MacGyver paced up and down in front of the store, wondering if he'd been stood up. As he crossed in front of the alley, however, those fears were quickly put to rest—as whole new ones took their place. The cold metal of a gun was pressed up against the back of his head. "Spiderman, I presume."

"Take out the earwig. Don't turn around." The voice sounded out of breath and horribly young.

MacGyver immediately plucked the tiny device from his ear and flicked it to the side. "Nice observation," he said dryly.

"Yeah, well, you can keep the wire you're wearing. I don't care if your people can hear me or not. Hey, your guy's okay," he said loudly enough to make it clear he was speaking to whoever was listening in on their conversation. "I'm a thief not a murderer. This is just for my protection."

"Good to know," MacGyver said.

"Yeah. Slowly back up into the alley, 'kay?"

"Okay." MacGyver did as ordered, going deeper into the alley until they had some privacy, and holding still a he was patted down.

"Okay. You can turn around now if you want."

MacGyver did, taking in the person before him with sharp eyes and mouth slightly hanging open. The kid couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old. He was wearing what looked like the same hoodie and jeans from the other night, which were now dirty and streaked with mud in places. A fading black eye decorated the left side of his face. And perhaps the most surprising: he had no gun. Instead, dangling from his right hand was a heavy metal pipe. But held up against the back of his head, it had felt exactly like the barrel of a gun.

"Clever," he commented, motioning toward the pipe.

The kid shrugged. "Not a big fan of guns."

"I see." MacGyver said approvingly. The kid was no dummy, though. He held the pipe casually, but from the way he stood, and the way his eyes tracked the man's every movement, it was obvious he'd be ready if MacGyver tried anything. "So…you want to tell me who you are and what I'm doing here?" MacGyver asked.

"I thought you were a thief. I gave you my card because I thought you could use my services." He looked straight into MacGyver's eyes. "But you're not really a thief, are you, Mr. MacGyver?"

MacGyver's eyes narrowed. "No, I'm not. Now how about telling me how you know all that."

"Got your picture from the security tapes at Klaus. Ran it. You think I'd show up here to meet some thief I'd just made a fool of without knowing what I was walking into? What if you'd been a murderer?" The eye rolling said enough about what he thought of _that._

"So if you know I'm no thief, then what am I doing here?" MacGyver demanded.

"You work for the Phoenix Foundation." It wasn't a question. "I've heard some good things."

"What do you want, kid?"

"A trade. I'll get you the diamond if you..." He trailed off, looking wholly uncertain.

"What?"

"If you help me stay alive." The young man swallowed. "The man I was working for is trying to kill me."

Chapter Two

MacGyver studied the teen for a long time. The thief's breathing was still off, a little too rapid and shallow. _He's hurt, _MacGyver realized. He sighed. "What's your name, kid?"

For a moment, MacGyver was sure he wasn't going to tell him. But the boy surprised him. "Grant Colbey."

"Do you have any parents, Grant Colbey?"

"No I don't, Angus MacGyver." He said it slowly and deliberately. Like he hated answering that question but had gotten used to it.

MacGyver made a face. "About that. It's just MacGyver, okay?"

"Whatever. Do we have a deal?"

MacGyver pressed his lips together in a thin line as he thought about it. This kid was very smart, maybe dangerous. But there was something about him, some indefinable something that made MacGyver believe he needed help. And when someone needed help, MacGyver just couldn't walk away. "Yes. We have a deal." He held out his hand and they shook on it. "Come on with me."

He turned and began walking out of the alley toward the street, knowing the teen would follow. Grant didn't disappoint. MacGyver turned around to address him again. "Oh, and, you're going to have to leave the pipe here."

Grant looked down at the hard piece of metal before letting it slide out of his hand and fall to the ground with a clang. He looked up and for a moment, met MacGyver's eyes. It was then that MacGyver knew what it was about him. He had the look of a man in way over his head who knew he was about to drown. And MacGyver had just asked him to let go of his life preserver. The moment was broken as Grant glanced away, hunched his shoulders and walked out of the alley. "Let's go," was all he said.



"Look, we don't need to make a big deal about this. All I want is enough money to get out of town and hide. That's all I need. I will give you the diamond if you just hand me a plane ticket and enough cash not to starve while I find a job and a place that's livable."

"Grant, we've been through this. We can't just give you money and let you run. We need you to tell us who this guy is, and maybe we can get him in jail before he can get to you or hurt anyone else," Pete said reasonably.

"See, it's that little bitty 'maybe' in there that makes me kind of uncomfortable," Grant retorted.

They were in Pete's office. Pete was miffed enough that MacGyver had wanted to bring the boy into the building in the first place without anything other than his word to go on, but now the kid wouldn't give them anything like a solid lead, and MacGyver could tell from his place leaning against the door jam that Pete was getting pretty irked. He stepped in.

"Look, Grant, why don't you tell us why this guy wants you dead."

Grant sighed. "I would love to. But I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no idea."

"Give us a name, Grant," MacGyver said softly but firmly. "We can't help you until you give us something. It's a simple matter of trust."

"Then I'll put it simply. I don't trust you."

"Then we can't trust you. We're not going to let you run off by yourself. We're just not. Give us a name. Help us catch this guy, and you'll be way better off. Otherwise you just spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder."

Pete looked at MacGyver. MacGyver looked at Pete. Grant wouldn't look at anybody. "John Rahmier," he said at last. The gasp he heard from Pete made him wince slightly.

"John Rahmier, the crime lord, John Rahmier?" Pete asked in shock.

Grant nodded. "I'll help you. I'll probably be dead by the end of the week either way, so I might as well, right?" His smile held no humor as he finally looked up.

"Hey, we're not going to let him get to you, alright?" MacGyver promised.

Grant gave a short laugh that sounded vaguely terrified. "Sure. Whatever, man."

"Wait, what about the diamond?" Pete asked. "Can you really get it back for us?"

"Oh. Yeah." It sounded like he'd forgotten all about it. The teen surprised them both by pulling the jewel out of his hoodie pocket and letting it clunk onto the desk in front of him. "Here."

Pete picked it up, examining it carefully. "This is really the Miranda Diamond," he said disbelievingly. "You've been carrying it around in your pocket?"

Grant shrugged. "Well, to carry it in a safe would've looked ridiculous. Besides, you ever read _The Purloined Letter_? All that 'hiding in plain sight' stuff?"

Pete looked askance at MacGyver. The man was grinning.



"This is a boat." The words came out bluntly with just the slightest hint of distaste.

"_House._ Boat_house_," MacGyver corrected. They were standing at the marina in front of MacGyver's home sweet home. Although one of them didn't think it was quite that sweet.

The teenager looked at him skeptically. "You live on a boat? Really? I mean, is that even safe?"

"Of course," MacGyver smiled.

"What about leaks and stuff?"

"I have plenty of duct tape."

Grant studied him as though trying to figure out whether or not he was joking. "I'm out of here."

"Hold on, I'm kidding; I'm kidding," MacGyver laughed. "Relax, kid."

"How did I get stuck with you, anyway? Do you have any experience at all with the whole protective custody thing?"

"A little," MacGyver said with a grin. "Besides, this is perfect. Who would look for you here?"

"Hopefully not John," Grant said flippantly, right before he winced and his arm went to his side.

"You okay?" MacGyver asked, his hand moving automatically to rest on Grant's shoulder.

The teen wrenched away, turning angry eyes on him. "Fine," he ground out. "Don't do that again."

MacGyver held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, sorry. But you've been favoring your right side all day. You want to tell me what's up?"

Bright green eyes looked away as he calmed down. "Nothing. I'm fine. Can we just go in, please?"

"Yeah," MacGyver said, voice tinged with confusion. "Let's go."

Inside, Grant looked around, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. MacGyver stepped around him, turning around as he walked, arms spread in presentation. "Well, here she is. I know it's not much, but it should work for us for a few…" he trailed off as he realized he had no idea how to finish the sentence. A few weeks? A few months? They had no idea how long this was going to take. He cleared his throat. "You can have the bedroom upstairs. I'll take the couch."

"No, it's your place. Sleep in your bed. I'll take the couch." MacGyver looked like he was about to argue, but Grant cut him off. "Really. It's okay. I'd rather sleep down here, anyway."

MacGyver shrugged. "Okay, if that's what you want."

"Yeah. Thanks. Uh, where's the bathroom?" MacGyver showed him. "Thanks." Without another word, he went in, shutting the door behind him.

MacGyver sighed. This might be harder than he'd imagined. Truthfully, he'd volunteered for the assignment. Pete wasn't sure, but MacGyver had insisted. He'd handled scared kids before. Grant was just another scared kid, right? A scared kid who could break in and out of a high security building without being caught. A scared kid who'd done jobs for one of the most powerful crime lords in the state. _Sure, Mac. This'll be a piece of cake._



Grant placed both his hands on the sink, leaning on it heavily, looking wearily at his own reflection in the mirror. The black eye was fading. It kind of made him look tough, which was nice, because most people took one glance at his big eyes and small frame and assumed he was as soft as he looked. But he wasn't. He was rock hard.

He sighed and stood up straight, wincing at the pain in his side. He carefully peeled off his shirt. Ignoring the bruises in various stages of healing on much of his chest and back, he instead focused on the long cut on his side. A cut made by a bullet graze. A bullet that was only a few inches from ending his life. Staring at the ugly, long patch of torn flesh, and thinking such chilling thoughts, made Grant feel suddenly very nauseated. He looked up to see the color drain from his own face, and he slumped to sit on the edge of the tub, head down, breathing heavily. He shook his head. Seeing himself injured always made him feel sick. But he could do this. The last thing he needed was an infection.

Standing, he steadied himself on the sink, avoiding his reflection as he opened the medicine cabinet. He found what he was looking for. Rubbing alcohol and a first aid kit. Primitive, but effective. Pouring the alcohol on a piece of gauze, he braced himself for the pain.

A sudden knock at the door startled him, and he jumped, the hand still holding the bottle of alcohol jerking, spilling a large amount of the liquid right onto his wound. He gasped silently as his side burned as if on fire, and he dropped the bottle, grabbing the sink in a death grip to keep from screaming.

"Grant? You okay in there?"

It took Grant a moment to clamp down on the pain enough to get his voice sounding somewhere near normal. "Fine." It sounded strained even to his own ears.

"Is that…rubbing alcohol?" Grant looked down and saw the spilled bottle lying on the floor, the strong-smelling liquid going under the crack in the door. "Open up."

He sounded mad. This was not good. "Wh…I…I'll clean it up!" he called through the door. Tears stung his eyes as he looked around for his shirt. It was on the floor. Already soaked with alcohol.

"Grant, it's fine. Open the door, okay?"

He fought down the panic as he weighed his options. He could defy the man and risk angering him further by keeping the door shut until…when? There was no way out of this one. Or he could open the door like he'd been asked and face the music. He already hurt so bad, though. But he could take it. MacGyver wasn't going to actually kill him. It was the man's job to keep him breathing. So there was really nothing to worry about, right? "Okay. I'm unlocking the door."

As soon as MacGyver got a look at Grant, his breath caught in his throat. He actually had to struggle to get the words out. "What happened?"

Grant wasn't looking at him. "Dropped it. Sorry. I'll get it, though, okay?"

MacGyver could only shake his head. The kid thought he was talking about the alcohol. "Rahmier did this to you?" A startled look and then a shrug was the only response he got. "Come on. I think we need to get you to the hospital."

"What? No way!" Grant immediately objected.

"You're hurt. That looks like a bullet graze to me."

"Nothing gets past you. Yes. It is a bullet graze. A bullet fired by one of Rahmier's men. Which means a hospital is one of the first places they'd look. I'm all for hiding in plain sight, but that's more like begging the guy to come kill me. I won't go."

"Grant, this could need stitches. It needs to be cleaned out. You've been letting this go for three days?"

"Two. But considering my options, I'll take my chances with an infection. I'll just butterfly it and I'll be good to go. I've had worse. But I swear if you try to dump me in some hospital…"

"Okay, okay," MacGyver acquiesced. "Calm down. I'm not dumping you anywhere. I promise." Grant nodded and calmed down, eyes sliding away to study the wallpaper. MacGyver sighed. "Let me just…Geeze, you look horrible. Look, let me just clean you up. Alright?"

"Thanks, but I can manage," he said quietly.

"Grant, come on. I'm just trying to help."

Grant considered it. The guy seemed to genuinely want to help, and that probably wouldn't last long. And just because he was letting someone help him didn't mean he _needed_ someone. It just meant he wouldn't have to look at the nasty cut anymore. Plus, if he gave MacGyver what he wanted, kept him happy, he'd probably have a longer life expectancy. It was a win/win. "Fine. If you really want to. It doesn't matter to me. Just a scratch, anyway."

MacGyver gave a huff that might've been a disbelieving laugh. He led the teen into the living room and sat him down on the couch. Then, after cleaning up the bathroom, he used what little alcohol was left in the bottle to gently clean and disinfect the wound. It must have hurt like crazy, but Grant didn't make a sound. Not one sound. MacGyver could only wonder what kind of conditioning it took to be that tough. If the bruises coloring much of the kid's torso were any indication, he'd had plenty.

As soon as he'd finished applying antibiotic ointment and a bandage, MacGyver found the young man a shirt he could borrow.

"Thanks," he said as he carefully slid it on over his head.

"We'll get you some clothes of your own as soon as possible," MacGyver offered as he sat down next to him. Grant nodded. "So…you want to tell me what the heck happened?"

"Told you. Rahmier's guy clipped me with a bullet."

"Okay. So what happened to the rest of you?"

A shrug. "Life, I guess."

MacGyver nodded. "Care to elaborate?"

"Not in the slightest."

"You just really don't want to tell me anything about you at all, do you?" MacGyver sighed.

"I have records. You want my life story? Read them. If you haven't already."

"I haven't. I figure if there's anything you want me to know, you'll tell me, right?"

Grant found the idea slightly amusing. "Yeah. If there's anything I want you to know. Sure, Mr. MacGyver."

"Right. Drop the Mister, would you?"

"Yes, sir."

MacGyver started to correct him again, but figured the teen was probably doing it on purpose. "Okay, well, I'm going to hit the sack. Extra blankets are in the closet there. If you need anything else, holler."

"I will holler," Grant said. It was more of a dismissal than anything else.

"Great." MacGyver held in another sigh. It would only be redundant. He stood. "You do know I'm just trying to help, though, right?"

Grant met his eyes. "I know that. Good night." It wasn't exactly friendly, but it was less of a dismissal.

"Okay. Good night." He trudged up the stairs to his room. _What am I doing?_ he wondered. Just then the phone rang. He picked up the one on his bedside table. "Hello?"

"MacGyver, it's Pete. I found out some things about your houseguest I thought you should know."

"Has he murdered anyone, Pete?" MacGyver asked tiredly, sitting down on the bed.

"What? Um, not that I know of. But…"

"Then I don't need to know."

"But MacGyver, his parents…"

"Pete, you can't tell me. I told him I wouldn't go snooping. I promised. If there's something I need to know, it has to come from him."

"MacGyver, what if he doesn't want to tell you anything?"

"I'm working on it, Pete. He'll come around. I hope."

"You can't help him if he won't let you." Pete knew him too well.

"I can try, though, can't I? Maybe he just needs someone to try."

Chapter Three

"That kid is impossible!" Mike Geller angrily slammed the door to the conference room. He was an impatient, tight-knotted, greasy-haired little man, an assistant district attorney. He'd come down to the Foundation to speak with Grant to see how much the boy knew and whether or not it would be enough to build a case against John Rahmier. Apparently it was not going well.

"What seems to be the problem, Mike?" MacGyver asked casually.

"He won't answer my questions. He just kept saying he didn't know or he wasn't sure, and now he's just sitting there, and he won't speak at all! Where did you find this punk? Because I'd bet my paycheck he's playing you for a few free meals."

MacGyver rolled his eyes toward Pete who spoke, "Did you ever consider that maybe you weren't asking the right questions?" he asked stiffly. MacGyver smiled. Pete was starting to get all mother bear for this kid, a protective streak that had flared up right after he'd read Grant's records, which MacGyver wasn't sure should be a concern or a relief. In any case, Papa Bear Pete didn't happen often, and it was very fun to watch.

Geller looked indignant. "The right questions? The right…" he trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why I even wasted my time coming down here. You do-gooders can't even see past the ends of your philanthropic noses to see you're being taken for fools by a teenager. Why do you think he came to you instead of the police? If he can't give me any real evidence or at least a few solid leads for the real police to follow, then this entire thing was just one huge waste of my time."

MacGyver watched as Pete stood straighter, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. "How much _is_ your paycheck, Mr. Geller?"

The man looked confused. "I beg your pardon?"

"He's taking your bet," MacGyver said with a grin, crossing his arms.

Pete nodded, pen raised over his checkbook. "Are we talking weekly or monthly?"

With that, MacGyver left Geller in Pete's very capable hands and walked into the conference room. Grant was sitting in a chair, arms crossed, staring at the table. MacGyver stepped up next to him, turning around to lean on the table, facing the teen. "Hey."

"I'm not going back on our deal," Grant said softly. "Really, I'm not. He just started asking me all these questions about arms dealings and drug rings and racketeering or something, and I couldn't answer them. All I know is what John told me to do. If he wanted to ask questions about that stuff, I could answer them."

"Are you okay?"

The question came as a surprise, and he looked up sharply. "What?"

"Are you okay?" MacGyver repeated.

"Wh…Um. Yeah. I'm…fine."

"Good. I can't stand that guy."

The ghost of a real smile touched Grant's lips. "Yeah? He was kind of…" he held up his hands and bugged out his eyes, the look on his face saying better than words how Geller was, "wasn't he?"

MacGyver laughed. "Oh, yeah. Pete's outside right now, giving him what-for, Thornton style. Guy was a complete jerk."

"Yeah," Grant agreed quietly.

MacGyver nudged him with his leg. "Let's get out of here."

Grant's head shot up, and he looked at MacGyver like he was crazy. "What?"

"You want to go for ice cream or something? I'm sick of being here. Let's go."

"But…he's an assistant D.A. I mean I can't just walk…can I?"

"We'll write up a report and fax it to the D.A.'s office later. Besides," he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "this is really going to tick Geller off."

Another tiny smile. "I like ice cream."

"Great! I'll buy." MacGyver hopped up from the table, pretending not to notice the way the sudden movement made Grant flinch, if only slightly, and making a mental note. "Grab your jacket."

Grant complied, snatching up the borrowed jacket and following MacGyver out of the conference room with a kind of nervous intrigue. As Geller saw the object of his interrogation—interview—walking out he called out, "Hey! Where are you going?"

"Ice cream!" MacGyver called back cheerfully, not even slowing down. "Thanks for coming down, Mike. Don't call us; we'll call you, okay?" Grant tossed him a wave.

Geller sputtered for a moment before turning to Pete who was looking rather satisfied. "Are you just going to let them go?" Geller demanded.

"Mm-hm," Pete nodded once. "So really, are we betting a week's pay, or a month's?"



"So I have to ask, Grant, what was with the Spiderman mask back at Klaus? I mean is that kind of an artistic thing, or what?" The two were sitting on a park bench licking vanilla ice cream cones. Grant had been a bit wary of the open space, but a quick call had a plain-clothes security detail of four watching their backs. Even so, the kid hadn't quite relaxed. But then, he hadn't quite relaxed since MacGyver had met him.

Grant shrugged, licking a vanilla drip off the edge of the cone. "I like Spiderman, I guess. I was never much into comic books, really, but it was kind of an interesting story. And the mask kind of adds to the theatrics, you know? Makes the whole thing seem almost ridiculous to people until you're walking off with their stuff." He stopped abruptly, glancing away. It was the most candid he'd been since MacGyver had known him.

"You're not really a thief, are you?" MacGyver guessed.

Grant gave him an odd look. "Ah, no, I'm definitely a thief."

"All the thieves I've ever known love to brag on themselves, about what they've scored. And from what I can tell, you've done some pretty amazing jobs, but you seem ashamed every time the subject comes up. Something tells me this wasn't exactly a lifestyle choice for you."

The teen was silent for an agonizingly long moment, so long MacGyver worried he'd lost every bit of the little progress he'd made. Then Grant said softly, "Not a lifestyle choice. No." Another moment of quiet passed before he spoke again. "Did you read my records?"

"No, I didn't."

"You sure? 'Cause it would save me some time."

"My word that I didn't."

A deep breath. "Thanks." Another pause as he finished his ice cream. "My parents died when I was twelve. Car accident. No other relatives that wanted me, so I wound up in an orphanage, or children's home or whatever. But the kids at the home get loaned out on foster care from time to time. That's how I met Rahmier. He fostered me for awhile." The flat tone of voice did nothing to hide the pain in his eyes.

"John Rahmier was your foster parent?" MacGyver couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Not a parent as such. He needed me for a job. I'd just turned fourteen at the time. It started off with simple stuff. They'd need someone small to fit through a window or whatever. Except that I was good. I never got caught. I always found a way to get out with whatever it was he wanted. So he'd bring me in for a job, I'd do it for about a sixth of the price he'd normally pay, and then he'd send me back."

"People can do that?" MacGyver couldn't help asking. "They let people keep taking the same kid?"

"Oh. No, he'd have someone else come in and get me. A few fake documents that said they went through foster training and all that, and they were good to go. After awhile I was getting a few jobs on my own, keeping my clients by charging way less than the going rate, putting everything in a savings account so I'd have enough to run when I turned eighteen."

"Once you're eighteen, you're no longer in the foster care system."

"Exactly. Nine more months and I'm home free."

"So why didn't you take your chances and run three days ago?"

"The account's frozen. I've got nothing. Couldn't even afford a bus ticket. Rahmier's doing, I'd just bet."

"It doesn't make any sense, though," MacGyver said. "Why would Rahmier try to kill you now? Especially _before_ you could hand over the diamond?"

"I don't know," Grant sighed, the conversation visibly taking its toll. "The guy's a jerk, but he's always put his bottom line first. Why would killing me suddenly become top priority? I don't even know why he chose me in the first place. I mean, yeah, I was a smart little kid, but I'm pretty sure there's nothing about me that just screams thief."

"You're right. Why you? Let me ask you something. When they take you back to the orphanage, do you usually look like you do now?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Grant asked defensively.

"I want to know who runs this home and lets this happen right under their noses. Seriously, is it always this bad?"

Grant's hesitation was enough to tell MacGyver everything he needed to know. Grant saw the look on MacGyver's face and tried to joke, "Well…the gunshot wounds are usually kept to a minimum."

MacGyver could only stare. He reached up and placed his hand on Grant's head, ruffling the soft brown hair a bit, much to the teen's surprise. "This isn't happening again. Not to you. I promise."

Grant shifted, ducked the hand, and stood up. "Sure. Shouldn't we be getting back?"

"I suppose we could. Or we could go get you some clothes. Your call."

"But won't Pete get mad?"

"Pete will be thrilled. He'll be able to personally tell Geller that we're not coming back today." MacGyver grinned. "He likes that."

"You don't have anything better to do?" It was a painfully honest question.

MacGyver stood up, clapping Grant on the shoulder. "Come on, you and me out on the town? What could be better than that? Let's hit it."

"MacGyver," Grant said seriously, removing the man's hand from his shoulder. "I'm going to testify against John. You've got my word on it."

"I know that," MacGyver said, slightly perplexed at the abrupt change of subject.

"So, you don't have to do the buddy thing to keep me happy. Just keep me alive and I'll be fine. As soon as this all blows over, I'm gone. So you don't have to be all…nice all the time. Really. It's okay."

"I'll keep that in mind." MacGyver draped an arm across his shoulders, mildly surprised when the teen tolerated the touch for a moment before putting that deliberate foot of air between them again. "Now, come on. We have stuff to buy."

"Okay," Grant said agreeably. "But we should probably go back to the Foundation first."

"Why?"

Grant reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet, watch, and money clip. "Geller probably shouldn't drive without his license."

MacGyver's eyes widened. "You lifted all that? While the guy was interrogating you?"

A shrug. What might've been a grin. "The guy was driving me crazy. I wasn't going to keep it. It was just something to do."

MacGyver laughed out loud. "Grant, my boy. You're insane."



The scream from downstairs had MacGyver awake and out of bed in a moment. Running down the stairs, he was ready to fight off whoever was messing with the kid who'd been sleeping on his couch for the past week. He wasn't ready for what he found.

There was no one there except Grant, who was lying on the floor, his breathing rough and shallow. MacGyver was immediately at his side, reaching down to help him up. The moment he touched him, Grant reacted, violently struggling away with a startled yelp, staring at MacGyver with bright, unfocused, angry eyes. "Just get away from me!" he screamed, voice laced with fear.

"Grant!" MacGyver yelled, hoping to snap the kid out of it. "Hey! It's me."

It worked. Grant awoke from the nightmare with a start, eyes darting back and forth across the room until they landed on MacGyver. "Mac?" His hand went down to his side, coming away with a few spots of red. "Aw, man." He looked up helplessly as MacGyver switched on a lamp.

"Don't move, buddy, okay?" MacGyver said gently. Grant nodded vaguely, and MacGyver hurried to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. When he got back, the kid really hadn't moved. Not an inch. His eyes were far away. Haunted.

MacGyver approached him carefully, not wanting to startle him again. "Grant," he said softly. No response. "Grant," he said again, louder this time. Huge eyes looked up to meet his own. "Come on. I need to look at your side."

Grant was nodding. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay. Let's just take care of you, okay?" Wrapping his arms around the teen's chest, MacGyver got him to the couch, where he sat them both down, leaning the teen into him, the boy's head landing on his shoulder. Grant was shaking, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead.

Lifting up Grant's shirt, MacGyver was relieved to see the damage wasn't too severe. The cut had been deep, but after a week of healing time, it was mostly closed. Struggling in the throes of the nightmare, Grant had torn off part of the scab. Ointment and a bandage soon had the situation under control. Grant hadn't put up any resistance, hadn't said a word through MacGyver's ministrations. He just sat stiffly against him, still trembling slightly. MacGyver continued to hold him, even after he'd finished, completely at a loss.

Finally he asked softly, "What happened?"

He felt Grant shrug. "Stupid dream. You mad?" His voice was quietly nervous.

"No," MacGyver answered immediately. His hand went up to rub soothing circles through the sweat-soaked hair. The word had the desired effect. Grant's body relaxed slowly, the rigid anxiety gradually melting away. MacGyver turned the question over in his mind. _Am I mad?_ he thought. _What kind of question is that? What did he think I was going to do?_ Recalling the kinds of marks still fading on Grant's body, MacGyver realized exactly what the kid thought. He unconsciously held tighter. "You want to tell me what it was about?"

"Just life I guess."

MacGyver didn't fail to notice those were the same words he'd used nearly a week earlier to explain the bruises all over his body. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Grant sat quietly, still worried out of force of habit that if he moved wrong or said the wrong thing, it would set the man off, make the pain start all over again. But as he sat there, held up against the broad chest, fingers still working soothingly across his scalp, he realized it would be so easy to let himself get too relaxed, to let himself give in to that nagging feeling of needing someone that he didn't want to admit to. It would be so easy to trust. And maybe, just maybe, MacGyver, this guy who was so obviously different, was someone who could carry that trust.

But no. It wouldn't—couldn't—last. MacGyver was an atypically good guy. But at the end of the day, he was still just doing his job, wasn't he? Grant's heart sank at the realization of what he'd known all along, and he felt unexpectedly lonely at the thought of being on his own again. But it didn't matter, he told himself. After all, it was just the way things were. Other people needed people. Not him. He was rock hard. "No. I'm okay. Thanks, though."

Grant thought he heard a quiet sigh go past his ear. "Okay, kid. You want me to get you a glass of water or something?"

"No," Grant said abruptly, maybe a little too loudly. "I…the tap water tastes weird." _Don't let me go, yet._

MacGyver heard him. "Yeah. Been meaning to get a filter." They sat in silence for another long moment. "Go to sleep, kid. You're okay here."

Even as he nodded and closed his eyes, basking in the impossible comfort of hearing MacGyver's heart beat just beneath his ear, Grant told himself firmly he wasn't crumbling. He wasn't. He was still rock hard. This would be the last time he let anything like this happen. Tomorrow things would be back to normal. Don't touch me; I can do it myself, thank you. That's right. Tomorrow.

A/N: I'm a little new at all this uploading documents stuff, so please be patient with me until I get it all figured out. That said, I should have the next installment up shortly; so if you're interested, check back.


	2. Chapter 4

A/N: Figured out how to load the individual chapters. What a relief.

Oh, by the way, special thanks to Niente Zero and OMacGyverO for the encouraging reviews!

The next morning MacGyver awoke to the sound of the shower running. He marveled briefly at how Grant had managed to get up without waking him. _Geeze__, that__ kid can move quietly when he wants to._ MacGyver had slept all night sitting up on the couch, and his neck was really starting to complain. He stretched carefully and stood up. Going to the kitchen, he found a bottle of Tylenol. Popping a couple in his mouth, he stuck his head under the faucet to get a drink, realizing the stupidity of such a move with a sore neck.

Still trying to work out the kinks, he decided he could start breakfast. Toast and eggs sounded good. He heard the shower turn off. Good. He got the skillet out and turned on the burner. A few minutes later he turned around to see Grant standing there, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, looking wholly unsure of himself.

"Want me to do something?" he asked.

"You can set the table if you want," MacGyver answered. Grant nodded and set to work. There was an awkward silence. "So…are you…"

"I'm fine, thank you," Grant cut in. "How's your neck?"

"It…hurts. Why do you know that?"

"You won't turn your neck to the left. You turned your whole body to look at me just now."

MacGyver couldn't help the amazed grin. "You know you're incredible?"

Grant didn't answer, but MacGyver thought he saw a look of pleasure spread across the boy's face for just a moment.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"It doesn't matter. However you want to make them's fine."

"I want to make them how you like them," MacGyver insisted.

Grant sighed, obviously weighing whether or not to tell him. MacGyver frowned, wondering if he'd lost every bit of progress he'd made over the past week. "Scrambled," came the sudden, quiet response. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all. Scrambled it is," MacGyver announced. Grant sat at the table. "How's your side?"

"Fine."

"Mind if I take a look?"

"Yes, actually. It's fine. I just put a new bandage on it. Everything's healing. You don't need to look at it."

"Okay, okay. I trust you," MacGyver backed off.

They ate breakfast in silence, MacGyver stealing glances at his young charge as often as he could. For the most part, Grant concentrated on his meal. MacGyver hated the heavy silence in the room. Things had just gotten to the point where the two were getting along pretty well. Not that Grant was particularly open, but he seemed to be getting more comfortable. He'd taken to calling him "Mac" instead of "Mr. MacGyver" or "Sir." He'd smile every once in awhile; he'd stopped flinching at every sound. At least twice, MacGyver had even coaxed a rare giggle out of him.

Now it was like they were back to square one. Because of a nightmare. MacGyver wasn't stupid. That was more than a nightmare. The lost, haunted look in the boy's eyes had attested to that. That was a memory. MacGyver was sure of it. He would've liked to have taken a nine iron to Rahmier's head for all the damage the man had caused. But he couldn't. But there was someone else who needed attention.

"There's something I want to know," MacGyver said quietly after awhile. The serious note in his voice made the teen look up.

"What?" he asked.

"I want to know the name of the person in charge of the orphanage."

Grant's eyes widened. "Why?"

"Because that person shouldn't be in charge of the lives of kids when he lets this kind of stuff happen right under his nose."

Grant looked down, rubbing an imaginary spot off the table. "Look, is this about last night? 'Cause if it is, I'm sorry. But you don't have to…"

"Grant. Yeah, this is about last night. But…"

"Mac, that wasn't even about him," Grant protested. "It was…I just…can't you just leave it alone?"

"You got hurt. It's partly his fault. No, I can't leave it alone. A guy like that shouldn't be in a position where he can hurt innocent kids."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly an innocent kid," Grant retorted, voice laden with self-deprecation.

MacGyver stood abruptly, walking around to yank Grant up to stand facing him, holding him in place with hands gripping his upper arms. Grant flinched, ducking his head, clearly expecting to be hit. The silence was broken only by Grant's breathing, quick and shallow through his nose. Slowly, MacGyver released one of his arms, hand going up to gently grasp Grant's chin, lifting his face until he met his eyes. Eyes full of pain. "You did not deserve any of what happened to you," MacGyver said slowly, voice determined, yet impossibly gentle. "Do you understand me?"

Grant swallowed hard and nodded, still coming down from the shock that he wasn't going to be hurt. He dropped his eyes to stare at the ground. "Let go," he whispered. "I get it; let go."

MacGyver nodded and released him, stepping back. Grant turned and sat again at the table. He sighed. "Blake Hawkins. Ellen Hansley Children's Home."

MacGyver sat in the chair across from him. "Thank you," he said. He meant it.

"He wasn't always…He used to care," Grant offered. "He and his wife worked together. She got killed in an accident. After that, I guess he just…couldn't care anymore." He looked up, seizing MacGyver's eyes with his own. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to talk to Pete. To see what we can do about it. Just from what you said, there's got to be enough to have him removed from his position. What about jail time?"

Grant shook his head. "Just get him out of the home, Mac. That'll be enough."



The next day, Grant waited outside with Pete as MacGyver went into the Ellen Hansley Children's Home to take care of some business. The two were sitting on the hood of Pete's car, playing poker. Grant kept looking up nervously at regular intervals toward the entrance of the all too familiar building.

"You worried?" Pete asked after awhile as they played.

Grant glanced up before drawing a card. " 'Bout what?"

"I don't know. You seem worried is all," Pete deflected.

"Well, I'm not. I call." The two laid down their hands. Grant compared his straight flush to Pete's pair of two's and they dealt again. "I just don't get why he's doing this, I guess."

"He cares about you. Give me four."

Grant handed him the cards with an odd look before shrugging. "He cares about his job. I mean a nice guy like that unmarried with no kids? He's all about the job. Right now that's me. Next week? Who knows. I draw one."

"You don't give him enough credit," Pete observed mildly.

"In my experience, people do stupid things with credit. They go out and buy cars they can't afford or host expensive dinner parties for people they don't even like."

Pete chuckled. "The guy lives on a boat, drives a Jeep, and eats take-out. I happen to know he has a great line of credit."

Just then, MacGyver exited the building, cradling his right hand, an odd mixture of anger and pride on his face. Grant's eyes widened, and he put his cards down as he slid off the hood. Pete peeked at Grant's cards before rolling his eyes and throwing down his own.

"What happened?" Grant asked as soon as he reached MacGyver.

"He resigned. Packing his things as we speak. A Mrs. Dwiggins agreed to take over."

"Really? The job should've been hers three years ago," Grant said. He looked at MacGyver's hand. The knuckles were bloody.

"Mac?"

MacGyver smiled tightly. "Would it make you feel better if I told you he threw the first punch?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Sorry."

Grant couldn't believe it. "You…I mean…He's not going to press charges or anything is he?" he asked worriedly.

"He wouldn't dare," MacGyver promised.

Grant could only stare. "Does it hurt?" he asked, with all the wonder of a little brother who'd just watched his big brother beat up the schoolyard bully.

MacGyver smiled, ruffling the kid's hair with his good hand, his smile morphing into a full-blown grin when Grant was too flabbergasted to shrink away. "Actually, it's feeling pretty good about now. You ready to go?"

Grant was smiling. "Yeah."

As they got into the car, Pete complained, "Did you know this kid is a card shark? I swear he was counting cards."

"Of course I was counting cards," Grant said rolling his eyes. "Not like I had to, though. You should never go to Vegas, Pete." MacGyver laughed at the look on Pete's face.

"Well, at least we weren't playing for money," Pete said brightly.

Grant looked up. "We weren't playing for money?"



A week later saw the D.A. beginning to build the case against Rahmier based on the information Grant gave. The criminal had mostly had the teen snatching confidential files and the like, though there had also been packages he wasn't supposed to open from people whose names he wasn't supposed to know. But luckily with Grant, a "supposed to" coming from Rahmier was never high on his to do list.

Grant was spending the day at the Agency with MacGyver. Pete had just received intel on circulating rumors that art from a new display at the museum was going to be stolen. The museum curator, who was aware of the rumor, had recently installed a new, state-of-the-art security system to ensure the safety of the pieces which were on loan from the New York Museum of Art.

His desire was for a man to test the system, and if it could be breached, to place the Phoenix Foundation in charge of security until which time either the thieves were caught or until the end of the month when the pieces would be sent back.

MacGyver was the obvious man for the job. If anyone could find a way through security, it would be him. He and Pete were currently arguing over the game plan.

"I'm telling you, Pete, it's going to be fine."

"MacGyver, we're talking state of the art. Everything is rigged. This isn't some walk in the park affair. You won't be able to blow your nose in there without setting something off."

"Then I'll try not to blow my nose," MacGyver said lightly. A look at Pete's frustrated expression had him getting more serious…a little. "I know. I'll be ready, okay? It's not like I haven't done this before. I'll figure something out."

"I think your best bet is this side entrance here." The museum blueprints were spread out across Pete's desk.

MacGyver shook his head. "Too obvious. I'm thinking of going for broke right here at the front entrance. Nobody ever thinks anyone would try it."

"Because no one is dumb enough _to_ try it."

"Excuse me?"

Grant, who was sitting in a chair across from them cut in sarcastically. "Or you could dig a hole and go up through the basement. It might save you some time." They both looked up. Grant hadn't actually meant to say that out loud, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably before plowing ahead. "I mean, Mac, you could do that, I have no doubt, but there has to be a simpler way."

"Well, what do you think?" MacGyver asked, turning the blueprints toward the teen. The man actually looked interested in his opinion.

Encouraged, Grant studied the layout. "Pete, you said they have alarms on everything?"

"Yeah. Even during the daytime, if someone tries to remove a piece, the alarms go off. Suddenly you've got twenty security people on you and nowhere to run."

"Really?" He looked at each of them in turn, a grin slowly blossoming across his face. "I have an idea."



MacGyver made his way through the museum, looking at all the beautiful pieces of art. He nodded to a mother and her young child on their way to the children's exhibit. It was a beautiful day. The sun streamed in through the skylights, reflecting off the metal in a modern sculpture. Just as he reached his target exhibit, the alarms went off, blaring deafeningly loud. He looked up to see two security guards rushing by, barking into their walkie talkies. He smiled. Right on time.



The nervous curator walked back toward his office, running shaking hands through his hair. He'd just had quite a scare. He mentally cursed the clumsy teenager who'd set off the alarm. Sure the lad was quite embarrassed and very apologetic, but really. Whose idea was it to let young people into prestigious museums, anyway? It wasn't as if they could really appreciate the culture of it. On his way to his office, he passed by the new exhibit, happening to glance over to admire the artwork…and nearly fainted. Three pieces of art were missing! A Picasso and two Monets! He barely managed to fumble his radio up to his mouth. "Security," he wheezed. "We have a situation."

The voice of one of the security men came through, sounding sheepish and wholly unalarmed. "Right. Uh, Mr. Scipioni, there's a Mr. MacGyver out here to see you. He's from the Phoenix Foundation." A pause. "I guess we should probably rethink some of our security measures, huh?"


	3. Chapter 5

"You were so incredible!" MacGyver raved as they walked through the door of the boathouse. "I mean, it worked perfectly, down to the last detail."

Grant was walking in front of him, face flushed with pleasure at the praise. "Hey, you had the hard part. All I had to do was play little boy lost." He flopped down on the couch, taking huge comfort in the fact that for the first time in a long, long time, his body was pain-free. He adopted a mockingly innocent expression. "I'm so so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to set off the alarm. Gosh, I was so engrossed with English impressionism, I didn't realize what I was doing."

MacGyver laughed out loud. "You were right. Once the guards heard the alarm, they were off like a shot and out of my hair. Doing it in broad daylight like that…They never saw it coming."

"Still, though, eight minutes has got to be a record for disengaging three security devices and making off with _three_ paintings. Seriously, I'm calling the Guinness Book people tomorrow. First thing."

"Only if I get to tell them I'm living with the world's smartest living seventeen year old." He sat down next to Grant, feeling a warm rush of affection for the brave kid who no longer flinched away from him. They'd come a long way. Grant still wasn't a touchy-feely guy by any stretch of the imagination, but he no longer avoided human contact like the plague, and he'd learned to accept the occasional pat on the back or an arm draped across his shoulders or even when MacGyver messed up his hair, without pushing away or getting upset.

Grant blushed, ducking his head with a grin. "Whatever, man. It was a team thing." He yawned. "This was cool. It was like being a thief, only helping people."

"Glad you had fun, partner," MacGyver said, watching the sleepy teen with a ridiculously goofy smile brought about by Grant's mention of them as a team. "You want to go to bed now or watch a movie?"

"Movie," Grant chose sleepily without hesitation.

"What movie?"

"I don't care."

"Um, how about an _Indiana__ Jones_?"

"Sure."

MacGyver started the movie with no intention of finishing it and sat down next to a bleary-eyed Grant. Sure enough, not halfway through, the kid's eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and steady. MacGyver switched off the TV and sat for a moment in the stillness of the house. Then he stood and stretched. Removing Grant's shoes, he gently maneuvered his legs up onto the couch, covering him with a blanket.

He watched him sleep peacefully for a moment. They'd done the nightmare thing more than once since that first one. Once when he woke up screaming for his parents, and once when he wouldn't talk about it at all. MacGyver had ended up with a sore neck both times.

"No monsters tonight, okay, kid?" He leaned down and planted a kiss on the sleeping boy's forehead, something Grant would never allow if he were awake. Then he turned off the light and headed upstairs, not even bothering to remind himself he wasn't supposed to get too involved with a witness he was supposed to be protecting. It was way too late for that, anyway.



Grant awoke the next morning to the sun shining in through the windows. He felt surprisingly…good. He stretched under the blankets, letting out a satisfied sigh before sitting up and going to the linen/Grant's clothes closet. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt and headed for the bathroom. By the time he was clean and dressed, MacGyver had already started breakfast. Grant sniffed the air. Pancakes. He licked his lips and slipped silently into the kitchen, walking up behind MacGyver to get a glass from the cabinet. MacGyver turned around.

"Whoa!" he yelped, startled, jumping back a step. "Grant. Geeze. I hate it when you do that."

Grant smiled innocently. "Do what? I was just getting a drink."

"You know what." MacGyver turned him around and pushed him off in the direction of the cabinet that held the plates. "Go set the table." He grinned and shook his head as the teen sighed a very put-upon sigh and did as asked.

"Are we going to work today?" Grant asked as he laid out the plates and forks.

"Do you mind?"

"No," Grant said immediately. "Yesterday Pete said there's this company that had a bunch of top secret, classified files stolen off their computers. He said I could help with that." He sounded excited.

MacGyver was less so. "Is that what Pete said?"

"Yeah. I've already got some ideas on how the thief got in. At least, I know how I would've done it." He paused at MacGyver's hesitation. "That's okay with you, right? Me helping and everything?"

"Let me just talk to Pete about it first, make sure I know and you know what you're getting into."

"Sure, Mac. Whatever," Grant said, obviously already planning what he was going to do to help.

MacGyver sighed. The kid was just too smart. Maybe too smart for his own good. _I am going to kill Pete._



"Pete, come on. He's barely seventeen. We can't make a habit out of this."

"MacGyver, I don't see why you're having such a problem with this. He's just consulting a little bit." Pete reasoned. They were in his office; MacGyver had sent Grant out to get a snack at the vending machine. Before stepping out, the teen had looked to him and politely told him he wasn't seven, and he knew when people wanted to talk about him behind his back. Which was what they were now doing.

"You really think we should be getting a kid involved in stuff like this? We do dangerous things here, Pete."

"You think I'd put him in danger?" Pete asked, clearly horrified at the thought. "Really, MacGyver. I care about him just like you do. He said he wanted to help. I told him he could if he followed my rules."

"Which you had no right to do. Grant is my responsibility. Don't you think there are other things he should be focusing on? Growing up, perhaps? And what about school?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," Grant said as he walked in, chewing on a Milky Way. Both men looked up guiltily at having been caught talking about him. "I'm done with high school."

MacGyver looked at Pete who nodded. "You mean you dropped out?" he tried to clarify.

"No, I mean I'm done with it. Finished. Completed. I tried high school. Didn't like it, so I got my GED." His voice was almost all attitude.

"When?" MacGyver asked, amazed.

"When I was fifteen."

"Is that…can you do that?" he asked, turning to Pete.

"He did," Pete confirmed.

"What's the big deal? You didn't have a problem when I was working on the museum job."

"That was a stage job. We weren't dealing with anything more dangerous than an irate curator."

"Look, Mac, I appreciate the concern, really, but come on. We both know I'm not some little kid. I grew up when I was twelve. I'm like…you. We do things other people can't. I can help here. Let me."

MacGyver sighed, sinking down in a chair. "You are only consulting, right?"

"Of course. Pete wouldn't go for anything else without your approval. Which now isn't seeming very likely."

"Alright," MacGyver surrendered. "Go ahead. Consult."

"Thank you," Grant said. He sounded annoyed. Before he left the room, he turned back. "And for the record, I never asked to be your _responsibility_."

With the only the two men left in the room, MacGyver leaned back in his chair and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Great. Swell. Fantastic. Peachy."

"He'll be okay," Pete reassured. "You're doing fine with him."

"You know he still doesn't trust me? He's more relaxed, but he doesn't really trust me."

Pete smiled. "That's a new concept for you, isn't it? Usually people trust you just because you're…you. This time you have to work a little harder."

"What do I do? How do you earn the trust of someone who doesn't trust anyone?"

"It's obvious he wants to trust you," Pete stated.

MacGyver looked up at him. "Is it?"

"Yes. Why _did _you overreact to him working on a case here? You were all for the thing with the museum."

"That was different," MacGyver insisted.

"Really. There were rumors of robbers. There's your chance of danger. An off-chance, but a chance."

"No, it was different because…I was there with him," MacGyver finally admitted.

It was as much a realization as anything else. He groaned and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. "Am I turning into a headcase, or what?"

Pete clapped his friend on the shoulder. "MacGyver…you've always been a headcase. Just keep doing what you're doing," he encouraged. "He'll come around as soon as he realizes you're not like every other person he's ever met. It may take a little while. Although, you may want to try keeping your foot out of your mouth the next time you see him."

MacGyver gave a pained smile. "I didn't mean that like it sounded. I mean, it's not like he's _just _my responsibility…"

"Don't tell me," Pete said. "Tell him."



MacGyver knocked on the slightly open door. Grant was currently using a conference room as an office, and had various blueprints, maps, and files spread out on the table in front of him.

"Come in," he called absently.

"Hey. How you doing?" MacGyver asked as he entered.

"Nothing I can't handle," Grant said flatly without looking up.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked gently.

Grant looked up, a guilty look crossing his face for his childish answer. "Sure. What do you need?"

MacGyver sat down next to him. "I need you to know that I never had any doubts that you can help. I never meant to come off sounding like I thought you couldn't do it. And the reason I was leery of letting you get involved wasn't that I felt obligated to keep you safe because it's my job. I was worried about you because you're important to me. I wasn't assigned to the case, so I wouldn't be around if you ran into anything dangerous. And I know you're safe here, and I know you can handle yourself; I just…I care about what happens to you. And I'm sorry if the way I acted made you think anything different."

Grant was staring at him with his mouth hanging slightly open, shocked beyond words at what he'd just heard. MacGyver had just apologized. It was a new experience. Usually he was the one who was doing all the apologizing. Mac said he cared. He wondered briefly how long it would last. He knew deep down he was getting far too used to being with Mac, feeling safe, almost wanted. He realized MacGyver was still waiting for a response. "Um, yes. I mean, it's fine. Thank you."

MacGyver smiled. "Thank you. I'll let you get back to work." He stood and headed for the door.

"Um, Mac?" Grant said, looking thoroughly embarrassed. He was holding up a watch. "I…um…here."

MacGyver looked at his left wrist and realized how naked it was. He walked back and took the watch, buckling it on while sending Grant a disbelieving look.

"I was mad at you," the teen said sheepishly. "Sorry. I guess I'm not used to someone being _over_protective."

"Well, I'm not completely sure that's possible." MacGyver laughed, shaking his head. "You know sometimes I wonder if you just go looking for trouble."

Grant suddenly looked sweetly thoughtful. "My dad used to say something like that to me."

"Did he?"

"Yeah. All the time."

"Well, I can relate."

"You would've liked him, I bet. He was a cop. Spent his whole life helping people. Really smart. He was a lot like you, actually." Instead of the sad, pensive look he usually wore when the subject of his parents came up, Grant looked reflective, remembering what must've been the happiest years he'd had.

"Yeah? I bet we could've been friends."

"He liked hockey," Grant offered.

"Then I know we would've been friends," MacGyver laughed. Kid knew him well.

Grant smiled softly. "Yeah. Well, I'm going to get back to work, okay?"

"Okay. Don't work too hard. Come find me when you need a break."

"Sure. Thanks, Mac."

As MacGyver made his way down the hall, he couldn't help but smile.



It had to happen eventually. Things were going too well. It had been a month since Grant had thrown that ink bomb in MacGyver's face, and Grant would be the first to admit—not out loud of course—that he wasn't the same guy who'd run off with the Miranda diamond. He was different. He no longer had to worry about walking softly around one of Rahmier's drunk henchman or whether anyone would notice the missing food from the kitchen because he'd missed the last few meals. He stomped around the boathouse fearlessly, slammed doors, put his feet on the coffee table, because he knew—he _knew_—that MacGyver wouldn't hurt him for it. Sometimes he could even relax, pretend John Rahmier didn't exist, that he was a normal seventeen year old. And Mac seemed happy to let him.

But deep down, in the back corner of his mind where he buried secrets so deep they could only come out at night while he slept, he knew. He knew that sense of safety was going to turn around and slap him in the face. It was all a matter of time.

Grant and MacGyver were just returning from a grocery run, Grant teasing MacGyver playfully about the woman behind the checkout counter. "She seemed like a nice lady. The fact that she found such favor with you has to count for something. I mean, really, once you get past the nose ring and the spider tattoo, she was actually kinda cute."

MacGyver huffed, leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms. "You're just jealous. I can't help it that women find me attractive."

"Yep. That's it." He wiggled his eyebrows and pointed to the slip of paper sticking out of MacGyver's jeans pocket. "You going to call her?"

"Ah, no. Not my type."

"Really?" Grant feigned surprise. "You don't go for the chains and piercings thing?"

"It had nothing to do with the chains or the piercings," MacGyver informed him loftily. "She just came on a little strong."

"Oh," Grant thought back. "So it was the part where she hissed like a cat and pinched you on the butt that was the real turnoff?"

MacGyver shook his head, trying to affect a stern expression while suppressing the grin that so wanted to escape. He reached out and lightly smacked the teen on the back of the head. "Put stuff away. I'll go bring in the rest."

As he headed out toward the Jeep, Grant called after him, "In her defense, she did say her name was 'Kitty.'" He easily caught the pillow that was hurled at his head, laughing at the face MacGyver made.

As soon as the door shut, the phone rang. Grant hopped up on the counter to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Grant. Nice to hear your voice. It's been too long." Grant froze. He knew that voice. It was a voice he'd gotten used to hearing only in his nightmares. And for a moment, he was that same beaten kid who flinched from every sound and cringed at the very thought of the man on the other end of the line. "What? Nothing to say to me?"

_No. You're not the same anymore. _"What do you want, John?" The words came out heated, more so even than he'd intended.

"Well," the man laughed. "Grow some backbone while you've been away? Has it really only been a month? I didn't expect it to take this long to find you. Running to the Phoenix Foundation. Clever. I'm sure you've been telling them lots of nice things about me."

"I'm hanging up now."

"You do, and I swear I will not stop until you're dead." The man's voice was suddenly all anger. Grant obeyed through sheer force of habit. "Now you listen to me, you worthless punk, and maybe you'll live through the end of the day. I've got a job for you."

"My last job, you tried to…"

"Did I say you could speak?"

Grant clamped his mouth shut. "No, sir."

"One job, and you have my word I'll let you go free. One last delivery. Say yes if you're listening."

"Yes," he ground out.

"I want MacGyver."

Grant's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"You will not speak again until I give you permission. I want you to deliver your man MacGyver to me personally. Go to the warehouse on Tenth and Pine. Tomorrow night at ten o'clock. I'll be waiting for you. Do you understand?"

"No," Grant said desperately. "Why him?"

"It so happens he has some information from a sting operation in Kiev that I'm very interested in. He and I need to have a chat."

Grant felt sick. He knew what that meant. "Please, John, anything else," he begged.

Rahmier laughed. It was a hollow sound that brought Grant back to the edge of feeling utterly worthless. "Surely you didn't believe anything had changed. Did you?" he asked ruthlessly. "At the end of the day, you're still a thief. Nothing your new friends can do about that. You'll think of some way to get him there, I have no doubt. You've always been such a magnificent liar. If you refuse, you will be shot the next time you leave that boat. That is no idle threat. Do you understand me?"

Grant swallowed hard. "Yes, sir," he said softly. The click on the other end of the line signaled Rahmier had ended the call. Grant set the phone down slowly, gripping the table as his knuckles turned white, feeling slightly dizzy.

_The vacation's over,_ he thought miserably. _Time to get back to real life._He'd much rather have had a choice, though. But then Rahmier hadn't given him one, had he? _At the end of the day, you're still a thief._

MacGyver walked in a moment later, carrying an armful of groceries. "Hey. You want to give me a hand here, bud? And I swear, one more crack about the girl…" He trailed off as he noticed the stricken look on Grant's face. He let the bags slide to the floor. "What's wrong?"

"I need your help," Grant said slowly.

"Why? What is it?"

Grant winced. _I have no choice,_ he reminded himself. "You know the warehouse on Tenth and Pine?"


	4. Chapter 6

The lights were off as the two made their way into the warehouse, maneuvering their way through a maze of large sacks of feed and grains, their steps echoing off the concrete floors. Grant stopped and MacGyver looked around. "So…where is this friend of yours?"

"That would be me." A lamp was suddenly turned on. John Rahmier stepped out of the shadows, followed by four large men.

MacGyver immediately pushed Grant behind him, shielding the teen from the potential attackers. "When I give you the signal I want you to run," he said tensely.

"No."

The quiet reply made MacGyver turn his head back to look at him. "No?"

Grant walked slowly out from behind him to stand next to Rahmier. He didn't look at MacGyver, even as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Mac."

MacGyver's lips were set into a grim line as he looked from Grant to Rahmier. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "What's going on here?" he asked casually.

"Our clever thief has done it again," Rahmier announced, wrapping an arm around Grant's shoulders, fingers digging in, intentionally bruising him. It had to hurt. Grant didn't even wince. Didn't even look up. "I assume the boy has woven some heartbreaking tale about a poor old lady trying to reunite with her estranged son or a little girl without a mother or some such nonsense."

"Actually, it was a friend with a drug problem who needed our help," MacGyver said, voice straining to sound conversational.

Rahmier laughed. "He was always a marvelous actor. Suffice it to say you will not be leaving here tonight. You and I have much to discuss."

"And what about Grant? What happens to him?"

Rahmier felt Grant tense at the question. The voice didn't sound angry. More like concerned. Even Rahmier was a little impressed. "You still care? Well, you really are quite the boy scout, aren't you? You'll be happy to know Grant here has bought his own freedom in exchange for yours." He removed his hand from the boy's shoulder.

"That true, Grant?" MacGyver asked.

"Yes." There was no point in denying it. "It's true."

"However," Rahmier went on, seeming to enjoy the show, "I don't believe I'm going to honor the agreement."

Grant's head spun around to stare at him wide-eyed. "What? But you…" _Smack!_ The blow landed hard enough to snap his head back and knock him off his feet. Grant fell into one of the shelves, knocking off a sack of flour that burst open onto the floor, sending a cloud of white into the air.

"Hey! Come on!" MacGyver started to step forward, but he was grabbed roughly by the arms by two of the henchmen and forced onto a metal chair.

Grant picked himself up and spat blood onto the floor, wiping his mouth with his sleeve before looking up to meet Rahmier's eyes. "Why?" he asked eyes burning with the question. "Why are you doing this? Why me?"

"If it's any consolation, Colbey, it ends tonight. I've been waiting for this a long time." He turned to MacGyver. "Stick around for the show. We'll get to you in a minute."

"What did he do to you, Rahmier?" MacGyver asked. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"Because he's a Colbey," the man seethed. "I made a promise to his father. That one I intend to keep. I swore to him as he died that his son would face the same fate that mine did."

Grant could only stare, his breathing coming in short gasps. "Wh-what?"

"That's right, you don't know, do you? Daddy never told you he was a murderer."

"My father never murdered anyone." Grant's mind was spinning, but he could defend his father without a second thought. In his mind there was no doubt. His father was a hero. _Not_ a murderer. "What are you talking about?"

"He took my son from me!" Rahmier shrieked. "Your father shot him!"

Grant's face twisted in shocked disbelief. "And you got…revenge." He swallowed hard, not wanting to believe what he suddenly, instinctively knew to be true. "It wasn't an accident, was it?"

Rahmier gave a sickening smile and answered. "No. It wasn't an accident."

Grant's knees felt weak. It was too much. He'd been living with, working for a man who…who'd murdered his family? Who'd ruined his life? Who'd turned him into something that he never ever wanted to become? "You monster," he breathed.

A short bark of laughter was followed by a hot breath uncomfortably close to his face. "I killed them. Your father shot my son while he was on a job. My boy was a thief like you. I swore to your father you would die the same way."

"The cops at the Klaus building. You're the one who tripped the alarm," Grant realized. "I was supposed to die that night."

"But you didn't! I had a plan, you worthless piece of garbage. You were supposed to die on the same day my son did. Another rotten thief dying at the hands of the police. But no matter. I kind of like this better." He pulled out a gun and pointed it directly at Grant's painfully throbbing heart. "Poetic justice of a sort, I suppose. He killed my son. Now I'm going to…"

He was cut off as, without warning, he was blown off his feet as the shelf behind him suddenly exploded, erupting into flames with a deafening roar. Before he could even right himself, the place was suddenly swarming with police officers, shouting his men to the ground. Disoriented, he looked around, spying the gun lying next to him. He quickly snatched it up and army-crawled behind the nearest shelf, using the flames and smoke and confusion to cover his tracks. He made it to the door and slipped out into the alley.

He smiled faintly. There would be another day. The police still hadn't learned. Even theatrics wouldn't help them. To capture him would be…

Suddenly, a force hit him from behind, and he was sent sprawling through the trash and dirt and grime of the alley, his attacker landing on top of him. He let out a muffled grunt as he was kicked in the back of the leg, and then punched hard in the back. Struggling to free himself, he managed to break his assailant's grip, elbowing whoever it was in the stomach. As he righted himself, he found himself face to face with none other than Grant Colbey. The boy was hunched over slightly, struggling to breathe with fire in his eyes.

Rahmier smiled a predatory smile. He pulled his gun. "The police. You set me up."

"I am a marvelous actor," Grant hissed through gritted teeth.

"Well, this is convenient, anyway. Now I won't have to go looking for you again to finish the job." Before he could pull the trigger, he froze as the cold barrel of a gun was pressed to the small of his back.

"Don't move," MacGyver ordered.

The distraction was all Grant needed. He grabbed for Rahmier's gun, punching the man in the face, feeling the telltale crunch as thin bone ground against cartilage as he wrenched the gun away from him. Rahmier screamed. Before the man could recover from the shocking pain of his freshly broken nose, he found his own gun staring him in the face.

"Don't!" he cried.

For one long, horrible moment, Grant stared at the pathetic man who had taken so much from him. The man who killed his parents. The man who made him steal. The man who hurt him, laughed when others hurt him. The man who'd just tried to kill him. It would be so easy… "At the end of the day, I'm just a thief." The man's eyes went impossibly wide. Without another thought, Grant swung the pistol around and crashed it into the side of the man's head, knocking him out cold. Grant stood over the prone form. "I'm not a murderer."

He looked up to see MacGyver standing there watching, the round, metal leg off the chair he'd been sitting in hanging limply from his hand. Then his eyes went to the man on the ground. He ejected the round from the chamber of the pistol. The bullet that could easily have ended the Rahmier's life. Bending down, he placed it in the unconscious man's hand. Straightening, he walked past MacGyver, reaching under his shirt to remove the wire he was wearing. The one identical to the one hidden beneath MacGyver's shirt.

"I'll be in the Jeep," was all he said.

MacGyver ached to follow him, to somehow ease his pain. He could only imagine what could be going on in the teen's head. But as much as he wanted to follow him, he couldn't. He had to get things squared away with the police before they could go anywhere. Leaning in the door, he called out he had Rahmier.

A police officer was the first to arrive. Pete was the second. The man looked at the unconscious body of Rahmier on the ground a few feet away. MacGyver handed him the wires. "We got it all," MacGyver said.

"Yes, we did." Pete had been waiting in the van, listening in. "It was a good plan."

Grant's plan. Grant's brilliant, reckless, all-or-nothing plan. "Grant probably doesn't think so right now. We needed him to confess. We didn't know he'd confess to that."

Pete looked at his friend. "Go. I'll take care of things here. Go."

MacGyver shot his friend a grateful look before nodding and heading out after Grant. The kid hadn't made it to the Jeep. He was currently leaning forward against the rough brick wall at the front of the warehouse, violently heaving up the contents of his stomach. MacGyver immediately went to the Jeep and pulled out a bottle of water. By the time he got back, Grant had finished. He accepted the bottle wordlessly, filled his mouth, and spat. He rinsed and spat three more times before handing the bottle back and heading for the Jeep, "Don't Touch Me" all but written across his forehead.



The ride back to MacGyver's was silent. Grant stared dully out the window, and MacGyver hadn't a clue what he was supposed to say. To ask if Grant was alright would be stupid. He was obviously very, very not alright. Problem was, MacGyver didn't have any idea how to fix it.

Grant walked into the house without a word and sat on the end of the couch, set his elbows on his knees, and lowered his face into his hands. "Mac?" he said softly after a moment. "You wanna watch a movie?"

"Yeah," MacGyver answered. He went to the VCR and popped in the unfinished _Indiana Jones,_ before sitting down next to the teen, making sure their shoulders touched. Neither of them really saw what was on the TV screen. They sat that way long after the ending credits rolled, until the boy's eyes finally drifted shut, and he dropped off into a fitful sleep.



A few hours later MacGyver was startled out of a light doze when the teen sleeping next to him began to stir restlessly, eyes darting back and forth beneath closed lids. His breath started coming in short gasps as his face twisted into a look of sheer terror.

"Grant," MacGyver tried to wake him gently, shaking him lightly. It had the exact opposite of the desired effect.

Grant reacted suddenly, pushing away from him. He would have fallen off the couch if MacGyver hadn't caught him by the arms. "No!" he screamed. "No! Please!"

"Grant!" MacGyver yelled, giving him a firm shake. "Wake up!"

Grant snapped out of it with such force, MacGyver nearly lost the grip he had on him. The anguished green eyes latched onto his with such look of fear and pain and loneliness it tore at MacGyver's heart. "He killed them!" he exclaimed, heartbroken. "He killed them, Mac. I worked for a man who killed my parents!"

MacGyver immediately pulled him against his chest, holding him tight. "You had no choice," he soothed. "You did what you had to do to survive."

"I hate him, Mac. I really hate him." There were no tears, only shaky breaths and a panic-filled voice muffled against Mac's shoulder.

"I know. Me, too."

"I almost killed him." He sounded very afraid. Ashamed.

"You didn't. Now he's going to prison. He can't hurt anyone else."

"He killed my parents. He deserves…" There was a long pause, and when he spoke again there were tears in his voice. Tears he still refused to let fall. "Did I…Did I do okay?" He was begging MacGyver to tell him he'd done the right thing. That it was justice, not cowardice that kept him from pulling that trigger.

MacGyver hugged him tighter. "You did better than anyone else I know ever could have. I'm proud of you, Grant. Your parents would be so proud." Grant's breathing hitched, and he gripped the fabric of MacGyver's shirt tightly in his hands as he fought to hold back the tears.

"I miss them," he whispered, his throat going painfully tight.

"I know," MacGyver said understandingly. "Grant, it's okay. Let go, kid. It's just me. Let go."

It scared him. Because Grant was afraid that once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. That it would all just come tumbling out until he was a crumbled, broken heap. But the strong arms wrapped around him in a comforting grip and the gentle hand rubbing soothingly up and down his back were promising it would be okay. That he could be fixed.

The first sob broke loose from somewhere deep inside his chest. Before he knew it, he was crying, tears sliding down his face at an impossible rate. Tears he hadn't let fall since his parents had died. Tears that slowly, one by one, began to dissolve the fist that had been clamped around his heart for the past five years.

MacGyver didn't shush him, didn't try to tell him everything was okay. Because everything still wasn't okay. The man just sat and held him, let him draw on his strength. Telling him with his simple presence that maybe one day things would be okay for him. At that moment, Grant was hurt and tired and defenseless enough to believe it.


	5. Chapter 7

Over the next few days, the two spent a good deal of time talking to the police, giving statements, and making sure everything was in order for the prosecution. There was no way they were going to allow Rahmier to get off on some technicality. MacGyver saw to it that Grant wouldn't have to testify. They already had enough on the tapes to charge him with two counts of murder in the first degree and one count of attempted murder. The man was going to prison. He was likely to get the death penalty.

Grant was bouncing back surprisingly quickly. For the first couple days, he was surreptitiously clingy, not physically, but he hardly let MacGyver out of his sight, usually making up excuses to be wherever it was Mac was going to be. MacGyver didn't mind. If he were honest with himself, he was leery himself of letting the kid out of his sight.

Grant eventually got over it and was as independent as ever, consulting on cases with Pete whenever he could get away from the police and the lawyers. It took about a week for them to get them to get Rahmier's case to the point where Grant wasn't really needed anymore. That evening, Grant climbed the stairs to MacGyver's room, knocking awkwardly on the wall. MacGyver looked up from where he sat sorting laundry and saw him. "Hey. What's up?"

Grant hesitated at the top step. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked uncertainly. Before MacGyver could answer, Grant seemed to change his mind. "You know what, you're busy. It can wait." He started to retreat down the stairs, but MacGyver's voice stopped him.

"Hey, wait, Grant. Come here. I've got a minute."

Grant looked unconvinced. "You sure?"

MacGyver shot a rueful look at the pile of laundry and grinned. "Come on. You know how much I hate doing laundry. Save me here. I'm begging you."

"Oh. Okay." He sat on the bed next to the man, taking a moment to choose his words. "Well, I just have some things I thought you should know, I guess."

MacGyver crinkled his brow. "Yeah? Okay, go ahead."

Grant nodded, took a deep breath. "My dad's name was Mike. My mom's was Erin. My dad was a cop, and that always made Mom nervous, but she always said it was the reason she fell in love with him. Mom home-schooled me since I could talk because she said after she heard my first word and it was 'book' she knew I would be smarter than the other kids. Dad loved his job, but he swore if he ever put his career before his family, he would hang it up and quit. They were both funny and smart, and they really loved me. They said it every day. We had a family camping trip every summer, and my dad taught me everything he knew. All my favorite memories are of those trips because it was just me and them, and we could do anything we wanted."

Grant had to pause for a moment before going on. "Anyway, that's my family in a nutshell. You should also know I suck at sports, my middle name is Yosef after some ancient relative who died way before I was born, I hate spiders, I like the A-Team, and I think all mimes are serial killers."

MacGyver stared at him with an amazed little grin, shaking his head. "Grant, why are you telling me all this?"

Grant shrugged before looking straight into MacGyver's eyes. "I don't know. I guess I've never really told anyone all that stuff before, and I thought…well I thought I could handle knowing that…you know it."

A proud smile tugged at MacGyver's lips as he heard what Grant was really saying. _I trust you._ He reached out and ruffled the light brown hair, earning a sigh and an eye roll. "Snakes and heights."

"What?" Grant asked.

"Stuff that bothers me. Snakes and heights. And guns."

Grant grinned. "Heights? Really?"

"It's not something I can help," MacGyver defended. "Besides, give me a break. You're scared of mimes."

"I didn't say I was scared of them. I said I think they're all serial killers. 'Cause they are. Anyone who dresses in all black, paints their face white like death, then refuses to talk to anyone has to be hiding something. And why do you think they paint on those black teardrops?"

"Touché," MacGyver said. "You know, I never really thought about that before. Probably because it sounds crazy."

"Whatever. I figured you didn't like guns. You stole my gimmick, by the way. The whole pipe-as-gun trick back in the alley? I never got credit for that."

"That wasn't a pipe. That was a chair leg. Clearly no copyright infringement there."

"You just don't understand the finer points of intellectual property," Grant informed him loftily.

"You know, you never did ask me what the explosion was about." MacGyver said with a crafty smile. "Weren't you curious?"

"In dust form, flour is explosive and can be used as an accelerant," Grant said matter-of-factly. "You carry matches. There was flour dust in the air. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put it together. Maybe a chef, but not a rocket scientist."

MacGyver was downright astounded. "You knew?"

"Of course. Why else would I have knocked the flour over? I didn't get hit _that_ hard."

"You _planned_ that?" MacGyver asked, impressed beyond belief.

A shrug. A small smile. "Pays to have an out. I knew you wouldn't be sitting there doing nothing. You'd come up with a way to save the day. Just thought I'd give you a bit of an advantage."

MacGyver shook his head. "You're a genius."

In true Grant form, the teen had no idea how to respond to the compliment and ducked his head to hide the blush rising to his face. "So, what are we doing tonight?"

"What do you want to do? We could go into town. Eat out, catch a movie, whatever."

"Nah. Let's stay here. You said there's another one of those Indiana Jones movies?"

"Two more, actually."

"Well, we already have food here. We might as well take advantage."

"Okay," MacGyver agreed, though he was somewhat surprised at the request. The evening was young. With Grant, there was always something to do or to see. The only times he'd sit still for a movie was late at night when he needed something to still his mind so he could sleep. The fact that he wanted to spend the whole evening in, sitting on the sofa with a sequel to a movie he'd slept through the first time was a bit out of character. But Mac didn't complain. After the last week of dealing with lawyers, he could use the break. He assumed that was Grant's reasoning as well.

The two made their way downstairs, MacGyver going to the television set to start the movie, while Grant went to the kitchen to load up a tray with all the food they'd need. As the previews began to play, MacGyver sat on the couch, leaning back into the cushions, feeling uncharacteristically satisfied.

Grant came in, handing MacGyver a bottle of root beer with one hand, setting the tray down with the other. He opened his own bottle of pop and sat down next to MacGyver, leaning in until their shoulders touched.

MacGyver glanced sideways at him. The teen was drinking his soda, eyes focused on the screen. While Grant had become much more comfortable around him, he'd never known the teen to purposefully get so close.

He nudged the boy. "Hey. You okay?"

Grant smiled, his eyes seeming to be somewhere else, tinged with sadness for a moment. The look passed. "I'm great, Mac. Thanks."

MacGyver nodded and they went back to the movie, talking and joking their way through it, something they'd never have been able to do in a theater. Then they proceeded to pop in the _Last Crusade_, igniting a deep, manly discussion on whether or not Sean Connery was the greatest Bond ever cast. They decided he was and all was well with the world.

As the last credits rolled, MacGyver looked at his watch, realizing it was late. "Well, I guess I'm going to hit the hay. See you in the morning."

Grant hesitated for a moment before saying. "Sure. Good night." MacGyver stood and headed for the stairs. "Um, Mac?"

MacGyver stopped and turned around at the tentative voice. "Yeah?"

Grant stood, took a step toward him and stopped, wavering at the end of the sofa. "I…um. Good night."

MacGyver nodded once, a funny smile touching his lips. "Good night."

Nodding quickly, Grant retreated into the bathroom.

With an odd look on his face, MacGyver headed up to his room. _Teenagers,_ he thought. _I never know what that kid's thinking._

He realized how true that was when he came down the stairs to start breakfast the next morning, expecting to see an impatient teenager itching to go to work so he could sweet-talk Pete into letting him "borrow" his access to the Foundation's computer system. Instead, he found an empty room and a note. His heart dropped into his stomach as he read it, the five simple words burning a fear into him that he'd never felt before.

Thanks for everything.

Grant


	6. Chapter 8

Pete immediately knew something was terribly amiss just from the look on MacGyver's face as the man all but stumbled into his office. Pete was on his feet in an instant, worry evident in every feature at seeing his normally unshakable friend looking so upset. "What's wrong?" he questioned.

"He's gone," MacGyver answered simply, eyes holding a fear Pete was sure he'd never seen there before.

"What?" Without a word, MacGyver handed over the slip of paper he'd been gripping like a lifeline ever since he'd left the boathouse. Pete's scanned the note, drawing in a sharp, sudden breath. "MacGyver…"

"This is all my fault, Pete." The words were laced with self-recrimination.

"MacGyver you did everything you could to help him," Pete reasoned.

"I couldn't make him feel safe. I couldn't make him see that I wasn't like everyone else. I thought…I thought I'd gotten through. Everything was starting to turn around. But he still ran." MacGyver's face twisted into a disgusted frown. "I failed him."

"You saved him," Pete interjected. "You saved that boy's life."

"But _he still ran_."

Pete nearly winced at the sharp tone. He sat behind his desk, biting the inside of his bottom lip before looking up to stare his friend directly in the eyes. "Do you still want to find him a good home?" He and MacGyver had talked about it early on. They'd agreed it would be the best thing.

"No," MacGyver said without hesitation. "I want to give him one." He looked his best friend and mentor in the eye, his expression one of pain mixed with unimaginable determination. "I want him back, Pete. I love that kid."

Pete nodded slowly, feeling like he should be surprised. And truthfully, if MacGyver had said those words a month ago, he would've been. But he wasn't. Not now. "Then let's go get him. Whatever resources it takes to find him, you have them."

MacGyver blinked. "You…the Foundation resources?"

"MacGyver," Pete said pointedly. "He's one of ours. We've never left a man behind before. I don't intend to start now."

MacGyver's face morphed into a grateful smile. "Thanks, Pete."

Pete smiled back, a rare, gentle smile. "Bring him home, Mac."

MacGyver nodded, visibly drawing strength before meeting his friend's gaze with a startling intensity before saying with enough confidence to make a believer of the most obstinate of skeptics, "I'm going to, Pete."



MacGyver parked the Jeep at the marina, cut the engine, turned off the headlights, and sat, letting the dark stillness of the night wash over him. He felt like a failure. He'd been searching high and low for four days with no sign of Grant. Apparently, with Rahmier's incarceration, the problem with the bank had been cleared up. The kid had withdrawn enough cash to live on for the foreseeable future. The paper trail ended there. He'd checked the bus stops, train stations, airports. No one remembered seeing a green-eyed, brown-haired seventeen year old. It didn't surprise him. He got the feeling Grant could really melt into a crowd when he wanted to. The kid could've hopped a train the moment he left the boathouse. He could be anywhere.

No. He had to stop thinking like that. He would find him. Whatever it took, no matter where Grant was, MacGyver would find him.

With that, he pushed open the door and got out of the Jeep, marching up the dock toward the boathouse. What he found waiting for him made his lungs freeze in his chest. "Grant?"

And it was. The boy had been sitting against the door, waiting for him apparently. As soon as MacGyver said his name, the kid jumped up nervously, peering at MacGyver with wide eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets then pulling them out again. Finally, he managed a weak smile and a quiet, "Hi, Mac."

MacGyver shook his head, almost unable to believe what he was seeing. "What are you doing here?"

It had been the wrong thing to say. Grant looked even more unsure of himself as he shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "Oh. Um, I just…Well, I just came by to…Um, I'm not staying or anything, don't worry. I was just thinking, and I realized I left sort of…abruptly. I mean it was kind of rude…I guess. Didn't really get to say…goodbye…or anything. I mean, I know it's no big deal, but…"

"Grant," MacGyver said softly, but it was enough to get the rambling teen's attention. "Why did you leave?"

"I…uh…" Grant faltered for a moment, thrown by the unexpected question. "We were done," he finally managed. "We finished the job. He's going to be convicted. I don't have to testify; so you don't need me anymore. I knew you'd understand I didn't want to go back into the system. Being a ward of the state kind of…sucks. But you'd be obligated to make the call, right? Because of your position and stuff. I figured it would be better if you didn't know. Then nobody could blame you. Of course, I'm here now…so…that kind of messes up the plan…" He shook his head with a wince.

"You were giving me an out," MacGyver realized.

Grant shrugged. "More like giving us both an out. I mean," he looked faintly worried, "you do know I'm not going back, right?"

"Yes, believe me, I know. You're not going back," MacGyver promised.

Grant smiled, clearly relieved. "Okay. Good. Well, look, I'm sorry I didn't think this through all the way before coming. I guess I really just came by to say thanks in person and to tell you goodbye and stuff. So…" the teen shifted awkwardly, kicking at an invisible something on the ground, "thanks. Bye, Mac." He held out his hand for a farewell handshake. MacGyver didn't even look at it. Instead, he grabbed him up in a tight hug, taking the boy completely by surprise.

"Don't ever say goodbye to me like that again," MacGyver insisted vehemently. "I just spent the last four days looking for you, and you show up here so you can say 'bye bye' before running off again? I don't think so. 'Cause you didn't give me a chance to say something very important before you ran off the last time. Well, now that I have your attention…" He pushed the startled young man to arms' length, holding him there with both hands cupping the sides of his face, making sure he did indeed have Grant's full and complete attention. He certainly did. "I don't want you to leave," he said firmly. "I want you with me. Permanently."

"What? Why? For what?" Grant spit out quickly, completely nonplussed by the sudden show of affection and definitely not processing all that MacGyver was saying.

"Because I love you, Grant."

Grant nearly jumped. "You…what?"

"I love you, kid. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

Grant shook his head dizzily before pushing away. "I…I gotta go."

MacGyver caught him by the arms. "You don't have to run anymore. You have a place here, Grant. Please stay."

Grant looked at him, still shaking his head, more in confusion than anything else. "You _want_ me here?"

Grant asked the question with such a raw, genuine honesty it hurt. Like the kid couldn't wrap his incredible mind around the possibility that someone might actually want him. "Yes, Grant. I want you here."

"Why?"

"I love you," Mac answered simply.

"Alright, stop saying that. You can't. Not really," Grant denied.

"Why not?"

"Because no one…I mean…you just can't. I was…I was just your job. I'm not the kind of guy people like to keep around on a permanent basis. I mean, if you ever need my help, give me a call, I've got your back, but…"

"What about you? Who's got your back?"

Grant stopped, quietly considering the question. "I do alright," he finally decided. "Look, I appreciate the offer, but these kinds of things never work out for me."

"So what are you going to do?"

Grant looked down briefly before meeting MacGyver's eyes. "Keep running."

"For how long?"

A shrug. "As long as it takes for me to find someplace…"

"Safe?"

Grant bit his lip. "Well, it's not that I don't…"

"Someplace where you have people who care about you?"

"Mac…"

"Someplace where someone wants you not for what they can get out of you, but because they love you?"

"Someplace that makes sense," he said defensively.

MacGyver nodded. "And that's not this place?"

"What do you want from me, Mac? You want me to say I'll miss you? Fine. Whatever. But don't you get it? That's exactly what doesn't make any sense."

"You're not used to needing people," MacGyver said knowingly.

Grant's eyes narrowed. "I never said I needed you. Look around this place. Guys like us don't need anybody."

"How many guys like us do you know?"

That got a half-smile out of the boy. "Not many," he admitted.

"I only know of the two of us," MacGyver agreed. "I'm thinking that, in fact, guys like us need each other."

Grant stayed silent for a long time, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes fixed on the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, hesitant. "So what exactly are we talking about here?"

"What do you mean?" MacGyver asked.

Grant looked uncomfortable. "Well, since my parents, I've never really done the whole staying in one place thing. Um. I don't really know…"

"You mean you're staying?" MacGyver couldn't help the huge smile from blossoming on his face.

The teen still looked unsure. "Well, I don't know…I mean, what would we…be?"

"We'd be a family."

Grant shot him a disbelieving look, the kind of look that said he thought MacGyver might be joking. "What?" he asked skeptically.

"Come on, kid," MacGyver grinned. "You have to see it."

"See what?"

"I nag you about working too hard, you tease me about women. We stay up late watching movies. I worry about you like crazy, and you just admitted you missed me."

"Mac, what are you saying?"

"Don't you get it? We're already a family."

Grant considered it for a long moment, eyes widening at the possibility. "That doesn't make sense. You're telling me I have a family, and I didn't even know it?"

MacGyver smiled at the perplexed look on the kid's face, draping an arm across his shoulders and drawing him close, unable to resist planting a kiss on the top of his head. He grinned at the look it got him. "Hey. You came back, didn't you?"

Grant shook his head in amazement, a small, disbelieving smile touching his lips. "You're really serious, aren't you?"

"Bud, I couldn't be more serious."

The teen studied him for a long moment, eyes searching. "Okay, fine. If it's that big a deal," he said softly. "I'll stay." He had to blink suddenly as unexpected tears burned the back of his eyes. "But, I want you to know…" He had to say the rest into MacGyver's shirt as he was drawn into a tight, affectionate hug. He had to clear his throat. It would be stupid to cry now. He was happy. "I want you to know that I'm no freeloader. I'm getting a job, and I'm paying rent."

"You don't…"

"I'm getting a job, and I'm paying rent."

"Okay," MacGyver laughed at the insistent tone. "Whatever. We've got more important stuff to worry about now. Like getting inside. How long have you been out here?"

"Not too long," Grant deflected as they went inside. He couldn't help smiling as he looked around the familiar cozy space. He loved this place. It meant warmth and comfort and safety, movies and board games and late night snacks. Being wanted, cared about. Needed. Maybe loved. He couldn't quite bring himself to believe that it would last, but he resolved himself to enjoy it while it did. And if Mac thought it was okay for guys like them to need each other, he figured it would be okay for him, too. Just a little bit.

He looked in the closet. "You kept my stuff?" he asked.

"I knew you'd need it when you came back. What I couldn't figure out was why you left without it."

Grant shrugged. "It wasn't really mine. We got it on the Foundation's dime. Some of it's returnable."

"It's all yours, and none of it's going anywhere."

Another smile. "Thanks, Mac." _I'm not going anywhere. _A home. A real live home. "You going to bed, yet?"

"I could stay up. Why?"

"Let's play _Life._"

MacGyver raised his eyebrows. "You want to stay up and play _Life_?" Grant nodded. "Okay. Set it up."

They sat and played for a long time. Grant won. As he laid down that night in his makeshift bed under an incredibly soft blanket, he felt for the first time that maybe he would come out ahead. It was a good feeling. MacGyver said goodnight and ruffled his hair before making his way to the stairs.

"Mac?"

"Yeah?" The man turned back to look at him.

"I…thanks." His tired mind had almost spit out three words he knew he didn't dare say. People he said that to always ended up dying. Dying or sending him away. It might be irrational, but there was no way he was going to risk it.

MacGyver smiled. "My pleasure. See you in the morning." He climbed halfway up the stairs before stopping, and leaning back down to look at him. "I _will_ see you in the morning, won't I?"

Grant grinned. "Yeah. You will. 'Night."

"Good night."

As he snuggled down under the covers, comfortable beyond belief, he remembered the few nights earlier when he'd gone to bed just like this. Only then he was convinced it would be the last time he'd ever see Mac, and the thought made his heart hurt in places he thought had numbed long ago. He wanted to stay with Mac. He hadn't allowed himself to admit it, but it was true. With that thought in his mind, he knew exactly what he'd be doing the next day. He thought back to the conversation he'd had with MacGyver. It was probably safer, he figured, not to put much stock in the love thing. If Mac was going to keep him around, he'd better be sure to make himself useful. He knew the perfect way to pull it off, too. Plus...this was going to be really fun.



Pete looked up at the knock on his door. He saw Grant and smiled warmly. MacGyver had called him the night before to tell him the good news. "Grant, come in. It's good to see you back."

"Thanks. Mac told me you were all looking for me. Thank you."

"I had a feeling you'd come back. Is MacGyver here with you?"

"Yeah. He went to talk to Lisa about something funny in records. But I kind of wanted to talk to you privately."

"About what?" Pete asked, concerned.

"I'm sticking around, Pete. I'm here for a job."

A/N: That's the end of the beginning. If you liked Grant, be assured he will be back. There are way too many opportunities for those boys to get into trouble. It may be a few weeks before I get around to writing a sequel. There's a Rundown story floating around in my head that I'll probably start next week, and I've got a Diagnosis Murder fic that's nagging at me, too. But, I will come back around to the MacGyver fandom in a little while. The guy's just too cool.


End file.
